


Playthings

by Aithilin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Android AU, Android Noctis, Childhood Friends, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Science Fiction, Slow Burn, alternate universe - detroit become human fusion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-05-25 06:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14970593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Ignis had never given the appearance and popularity of androids much thought before. Not until one looking like his comatose childhood friend was presented to the King ten years after the attack that took the Prince from them and sent the kingdom into dealing with question of succession and an uncertain future.Now Ignis has an android who looks like Noctis, and no idea what to do with the damned thing.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Very much a Detroit: Become Human au. The tags are simplified because I have three possible ways that this can go, and I haven't decided on which one to go with.

When Noctis was young, the technology had been little more than for the amusement of children. Playthings to be gifted and fawned over, desired by the masses and presented to the wide-eyed prince who seemed to shy away from the attention his own birthday celebrates warranted. On his sixth birthday, one of the founders of the up-and-coming CyberLife— a maker of toys and technology, making just as many leaps and bounds in fields of research as they were in consumer relations and market psychology— presented Noctis with a toy modelled after the prince’s favourite fairy tales. 

The prince was seen with the strange little toy— lifelike in its mannerisms and apparent learning, but as soft and supple as a pet cat— and there was a quick clamouring for it every where in Insomnia shortly after. 

Regis had smiled as his son showed him more and more of what he learnt from the strange little toy. From the android model of Carbuncle, always clutched close, even as new creatures were soon presented in a few short years. The prince’s favouritism was deemed charming to the media, to the people, even as CyberLife rolled out with miniaturised Chocobos (”the perfect apartment pet”) and moogles that would serve tea and carry messages around between children whose parents were willing to pay for the things. 

But there was Noctis, with his favoured little Carbuncle. Who cooed and chirruped after him as they had their adventures in the Citadel hallways. Who waited patiently in the prince’s arms, projecting stories and shows, and movies— copies of his and Ignis’ drawings, maps of the stars— from the imitation red crystal on its head. More than once, Regis had scooped up his son as he left the cavernous and isolating throne room, only to have the toy pressed between them. 

He remembered what it had looked like with it’s synthetic fur soaked in his son’s blood on the side of the road. 

When Noctis was eight, the roads out of Lucis were blocked. The kingdom isolated from its allies, messages intercepted. And Noctis was attacked within the safeties of the Wall by a daemon. 

CyberLife had presented a “Carbuncle, mark two” to the prince’s chambers. To the nursery that had been sterilised and converted to a hospital room as the prince slept. 

Regis had placed a more traditional carving of the little fairy tale dream god at Noctis’ side to guide him home, even as the little android chirped at him. 

When Noctis was young, the technology had given him his favourite toy. Now it gave him the tireless nurse who monitored his vitals and adjusted the machines keeping him alive. 

Regis had stopped visiting when the nurse was presented to the Citadel by CyberLife ten years after the attack. Ignis had maintained his own strict schedule of visits and appearances while the Citadel panicked around him. 

“How is he?”

“He is doing very well, master Scientia,” Ignis thought he could be forgiven for seeing the nurse as more than just another machine keeping the prince alive. “All vitals are strong, hydration is good.”

The smile was human, the way her hair fell and curled about her eyes was human. The warmth from her, the softness of her, was all more human than Ignis thought a machine had any right to be. Almost all of her was a perfect reflection of the compassion of humanity. Save for the details— her uniform was still crisp and clean, the LED glow of her processor, the ways she could stand so silent and peaceful until something made her spark back to life with a response or programmed duty— which reminded Ignis time and again that this was not a human woman standing at attention over the Crown Prince. This was an immortal sentry. 

“Has there been any change at all? Anything?”

He asked every visit. Every other day. As Noctis’ body aged while he slept. As the kingdom started to question the rights of succession and stewardships. 

“There have been signs of R.E.M. cycles in the last twenty-four hours,” the android offered another of her quick smiles— her programming designed to ensure that she could anticipate the reactions of grieving family, of patient family, and de-escalate where appropriate. “I believe he may be dreaming.”

“Dreaming?” Ignis sat at the chair by the bedside, where he usually settled in with his tablet and reports. Where he prepared to spend a few hours in his own vigil over his childhood friend, before his duty to the throne pulled him back to the record halls and conference rooms. The little Carbuncle toy chirruped in greeting, older technology with ten years of upgrades piggybacked on scanning him. The toy was little more than a doll designed to call for a human if needed, to summon doctors and security— should the sensors in its tail and ears ever read something the nurse could not. “Can someone dream if they’re in a coma?”

There was a moment while the android seemed to process the question. Had she been human, Ignis would have assumed she was finding the words to let him down gently. To ease the burden that hope could bring; “The studies are inconclusive, master Scientia. Shall I track Prince Noctis’ dream-cycles for you?”

“Please, and email me a report each week.” 

“Yes, sir.”

There were routines that Ignis was used to during his visits. He watched as there were careful stimulations applied to Noctis’ muscles, as atrophy was checked along with vitals and more regular patterns. But for the most part, it was quiet. Noctis’ room was always peaceful. Carbuncle curled at Noctis’ shoulder like a faithful pet, the nurse standing to one side until needed. Normally, Ignis would be editing reports for his work, or filing things through the Citadel archives that may be of use later. But today, he found himself spending the few hours tracing his online history back over familiar studies; retreading his own footprints as he searched for signs of hope for his childhood friend. 

“Carbuncle?” the little creature cooed acknowledgement to him without moving, one large ear trained to his voice; “can you play some music? Something soft.”

The first familiar notes rose from the speakers placed around the room— leftovers from when there were supposed breakthroughs in auditory stimulation— and Ignis let himself relax back with his research.


	2. "Iggy"

Androids had been gifted to the Citadel only three times in the past eighteen years. Little Carbuncle, the favoured treasure of the young Prince Noctis; the nurse that stood sentry over Noctis now; and now this. This creation that had stood in the throne room before King Regis, which had caused a murmur to spread through the court. The representative of CyberLife had introduced the android as the latest project, the latest model, with all the advancements the past ten years had afforded them. 

It was like seeing Noctis alive and standing before them. 

Now, in the privacy of his study, with only Clarus and Ignis to witness the machine as it waited on their verdict, Regis felt a familiar ache in his chest for his son. “No.”

“Regis—”

“I can’t look at this. I can’t—”

The android stood at attention, expression open and friendly, like most of the others that that flooded the city. But it was agreed that the android was a work of art— a perfect representation of what the Crown Prince could have been. Ignis sat with his tablet, scanning media coverage of the gift, judging the public opinion of it.

“Your Majesty,” He watched the face he had seen every other day for the past ten years actually active, blinking and waiting, imitating breath and the common relaxed postures of other youths raised among the ranks of the Citadel. “If I may say, the gift was made very public. It can’t be decommissioned now.”

“He’s right,” Clarus stepped up to the machine, tilted its chin to search for some shred of humanity in the mechanics. The little blue LED at its temple shifted as it processed the most appropriate reactions and stances, still waiting for orders. “You could declare it unique. Prevent mass production for the sake of the crown. But this one is already out there.”

Regis had stayed at his desk, the barrier of the heavy wood a comfort in the room. A set shield against the ghastly creation standing so patiently. He remembered just how impatient his son had been— always chasing after something. “Issue that order. But I want this thing out of my sight.”

“I’ll take it,” Ignis offered, setting his tablet aside as he stood to inspect the thing— its serial number projected across the nondescript uniform in Lucian blacks the only moving light in the room. The android was the highest piece of technology in the room, and Ignis— for all the pain it caused him to think of this thing wearing his friend’s face— was curious. “Unless it’s to be displayed in the Halls of History, I wouldn’t mind it.”

“You manage archives, Scientia,” Clarus stepped away from the machine, and Ignis watched those bright blue eyes of the creation focus on him instead. Still open, still trusting. “What would you do with this?”

“I proposed a new archive several months back, Your Majesty,” Ignis had meant to have a team of androids to act as record keepers. To control the information and preserve the history of the kingdom in their own databases. Their own shared cloud of archives that could be accessed across the kingdom— wherever there was a library or android commissioned by the Citadel. It had been an expensive proposal, with no budget justified for the testing and work he would need to do to ensure the data could not be corrupted or used as a link to other information that their enemies might exploit. “No android could be spared at the time I made it. But this one… What better to manage the Halls of History than the face of the kingdom?”

“You’d use my son’s image like this?”

“With all due respect, Prince Noctis is already used to further arguments against the crown and lines of monarchy. If he’s never going to be king, then his image could at least preserve the history of the kingdom.”

There were plenty of boundaries in the Citadel, clearances even Ignis didn’t have. Plenty of boundaries that focused on the mention of the prince— asleep in his tower. But with no heir apparent, and no line of clear succession, politicians had become ruthless in their restlessness for a more certain future. The younger Amicitia was being groomed for stewardship, the Lucis Caelum line declared dead already. And Ignis was fairly certain that being so frank in one of the few sanctuaries the king had from the mess that the Citadel had become was crossing almost every boundary that had been put in place.

“He’s got a point, Regis,” Clarus offered, arms crossed as he judged the king’s reaction. “At the very least, there’s been a plan to have androids representing the old kings for years. If it doesn’t work as the archives, it can be the first android in the Halls of History displays.”

“Fine. You can have it, Scientia.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

The stares from the guards and the human staff were unmistakable as Ignis led the android through the halls to his own study, his own library. He ignored them the best that he could, dismissed those he had the authority to, once he had reached his cluttered little corner of the Citadel archives. He had projects and notes scattered across his desk, the folders coloured and coded despite the copies of each already transferred to the tablet in his hands. It was hard to let it go, to know what to do with his hands once he did. 

“What’s your name?”

He had never thought to ask that question of an android before. The nurse in the prince’s rooms was simply ‘nurse’ in his mind. Or her model number. The machines that staffed the Citadel halls— the maintenance workers and cleaners, the receptionists at the public entrances, the tour guides for the Halls of History and the Skywalks— were all just types and models. Named for their duties and programmes when he needed to call them something other than just ‘that machine’. But names were a strange, too human thing he had barely placed on the creations wandering the halls with their assignments and tasks. 

It seemed wrong to be so indifferent to this particular android, now standing at his doorway. 

“Name, sir?”

“Did they programme you with one?”

“My model number is LC114, and my serial—”

“No,” Ignis held a hand up to stop what he expected to be the string of digits that would likely mark the machine as some sort of prototype. “I mean a name. What can I call you?”

“I think that’s up to you, sir.”

There was a moment while Ignis stared at the features of his friend. His childhood friend who had been confined to a sterile bed for the past ten years. Who had been subjected to tests and experiments and every medical breakthrough that could possibly arise during that time. And he could see the android’s frank openness, the anticipation of an order, of some sort of task. 

“I can’t… You’re not…” he struggled to put an order to his thoughts. “Do you know who you’re modelled after?”

There was a swift nod and the android offered a small, very human smile. “Of course. Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum. I believe he was your childhood friend.”

“Is.”

“Pardon?”

“Is. And… you don’t need to be so formal. It’s strange.”

“Apolo—” the android caught itself before the word was out, the LED at its temple flared a quick flash of yellow as it’s programming shifted. “Sorry about that. I don’t get what you mean.”

“Noctis isn’t dead. He’s still my friend.”

“Oh. I understand.”

Ignis heaved a sigh and fell into his chair. He already regretted this decision, this plea to salvage some good from the strange machine still waiting on him. It seemed so wrong now, after years spent chasing after the prince, after his friend. Even now, when the prince had gone somewhere he couldn’t follow. 

The android really was a work of art. It looked similar to the young man sleeping in the royal rooms elsewhere in the Citadel towers. It had the same blue in his eyes Ignis remembered from the prince’s eyes, the same shade of hair, the same boyish curve to his face. It looked like how Noctis should have looked now, it stood how his friend should have been. Almost. He couldn’t imagine Noctis standing still for so long while someone studied every feature and imperfection perfectly included in the design. 

“I’ll call you Noct. For now. We can change that later, right? If we need to?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You need to stop calling me that.”

“What would you rather I call you?”

Ignis hesitated at the question. He felt none of his usual confidence. None of his usual control in this little haven of archives and history carved out in the Citadel depths. “He used to call me Iggy. Or Specs.”

It was a fond memory. It was selfish and a whim. 

He just wanted to hear those names again. In a voice he could pretend was his friend. 

“Sounds good, Iggy.”

The rest of the day was spent working on his plan— revisiting his original proposal. The idea of a record keeper that could access the history of Lucis, could piece together thousands of books, and scrolls and stories, was too tempting to ignore for long. He assessed Noct’s pre-programmed knowledge with simple access points, with quick questions and texts. He compared it to his own work, his own focus after he was assigned to the archives and had the time to stretch his understandings beyond the grade school levels of history that seemed programmed into the android. 

He revisited his plan and started to revise it. He had trained plenty of the interns who had been eager for their chance to see the work behind the Halls of History. He had dashed more dreams of some hidden font of knowledge to the romantics among them, and set them firmly back down on the steady earth of Eos with more practical tasks than reading the diaries of old kings and queens. “We’ll start with the basic catalogues. I have a filing system in place, but can you—”

“You want me to be a librarian?”

“Well… sort of,” when put like that… Ignis hesitated at the idea. “You might be expected to present actual history some day. And I’d rather you were prepared with that knowledge.”

“I don’t think I’m actually programmed for that.”

“What are you programmed for?”

“I’m not actually certain, Iggy.”

“Then let’s start with the catalogue, shall we?”

Ignis had never actually heard an android sigh before. It was a very Noctis sort of thing to do. 

He linked his tablet to the most recent uploads of the catalogue in the archives while the android stepped away to examine the few stacks of books kept in the little study. Ignis watched as the machine— as Noct— ran a hand over the spines lined up on his shelves, pausing here and there to pick up a title and turn it over in his hands. To Ignis, it looked like anyone else just exploring the collection he preferred to keep closer than the usual archives. But he wanted to know what Noct was seeing. 

Did the android see the age of the books? The material or the details of the author? Did he search— in those few seconds of handling— the network of information available to every android to see the details of whatever he was holding?

“What are you doing?”

“Am I not supposed to look?”

“I’m just curious. What are you actually seeing?”

“You’ve broken your pattern at organising these. The first are in order of author, then… alphabetical by title rather than name?”

“Look again.”

The LED flared yellow as Noct stepped away from the shelves and looked over the titles listed there. And Ignis smiled at the light of recognition when the pattern emerged. “Time published.”

“Come here and read the catalogue. We’ll see if you can’t help me get a better system in place.”

Ignis got Noct settled into one of his few seats with his tablet, watching as the android connected to the device with the touch of a hand before he settled at his desk with a book of his own and his old, durable notebook. He only had a few minutes of copying out his own notes, lists and ideas, before there was a voice intruding from the door. He supposed the new arrival in the Citadel would have summoned every curious set of eyes they haven’t already encountered in the hallways. 

“You get this new toy and you don’t want to share?”

Ignis barely had to look up from his little notebook— the only paper he kept out of habit, the only notes not converted over to the database he was so painstakingly trying to build— to know that Gladiolus was smirking. That the Steward Apparent was leaning against the positively ancient doorframe with his arms crossed, and a teasing smile at his lips. But Noct did look up, that curious little look observed out of the corner of Ignis’ eye as he refused to give Gladiolus the satisfaction of distracting him. 

“Working, Gladio.”

“No you’re not. You’re writing down some new recipe.”

“That counts as work.”

“Sure it does.”

He looked up to glare at the other man once he had finished scribbling down a note. “Did you need something? Or is this a social call.”

“Don’t be like that, I just wanted to see this thing.”

Gladiolus indicated the android now watching him, analysing him. Ignis let himself watch the way the machine still kept hold of his tablet, palm pressed against the screen as his work was still absorbed through whatever sensors had been built into the thing’s hands. 

“Of course you did.”

Gladiolus bent down to inspect the android, his own dark eyes taking in the details Ignis had already resigned himself to facing each day. “Got a name?”

“I’m Noct,” the android answered with a little smile, and Ignis fought back the blush at the smirk that revelation earned him. “You got a name?”

“Gladio.”

“Ah,” the tablet went dark beneath Noct’s hand and Ignis took it back. “Amicitia the younger.”

“You don’t talk like other androids.”

“Iggy said I was too formal. It was strange.”

“Iggy would know, he talks like a damned robot half the time. What’s he got you doing?”

There were no particular levels of clearance that kept Gladiolus from knowing the details of whatever project Ignis devised, but this was a pet project, one that he had been denied for months already. “Noct—” 

“Reading.” 

There were times, plenty of them over the past ten years, where Ignis wondered what would have happened if Noctis had woken up. If they had been raised according to the plans that had been put in place for their lives before the attack. He wondered if he and Gladiolus would have actually spent time together before. He had always understood that they were meant to be the guardians of their prince. That they were meant to share the burden with their royal friend. 

He could still remember the way Noctis had looked forward to Gladiolus’ breaks from his training. The way the little prince had clutched at his Carbuncle toy as they waited for the Shields to arrive in the morning, the whole day stretched out for the three of them together. 

He wondered how things would have been different, if Noctis had been there to keep them from drifting apart. 

“Can’t complain about reading all day. Anything good?”

The android seemed to think the question over before answering; “I’m sure there’s something more interesting than just the catalogue to work my way through.” 

“You got that right,” Gladiolus straightened; turned to Ignis as he did. “What’s the plan with this guy?”

“His Majesty preferred not to see it, and we can’t very well release it to the public.”

“So you’re locking it up in your library? Seems a bit mean.”

“It’s an android.”

“Right.” Gladiolus shook his head, examining the machine again; “Really good likeness, though.”

“Really, Gladio, did you want something?”

“Lunch.”

“Lunch?”

“Yeah. We haven’t done lunch in ages. Let’s grab something.”

There was a moment of hesitation as Ignis considered his options. He looked over Noct first. “Will you be okay here?”

“I’m fine, Iggy.”

Ignis took a deep breath and nodded, already anxious to leave the android alone without some explicit instructions. Without some task to keep it occupied in his absence. But he had survived years without worrying about these machines already. “Alright. Lunch it is.”


	3. Lunch

“How is he, anyway?”

“The android? Interesting, I suppose.”

They had barely exchange much more than the expected pleasantries on their way from the Citadel. In the excitement of the day— the presentation from CyberLife, the meeting with the King, attempting to settle into the idea that there was this machine sat back in his office— Ignis had forgotten just what sort of day the weather had promised. It was warm, and bright, the city blinding in the fresh sunlight. The Citadel entrances still a steady flow of visitors and staff despite the heat of the early afternoon sun. 

Now that he took notice, Ignis could see the crisp street uniforms of the androids in the crowd. He could spot the telltale blue of armbands and markers, the flickering holographic movement between model number and given name across chests and back of the personal machines staying close to their humans. The androids on staff went about their tasks— sweeping trash dropped from concession stands, maintenance work too menial and repetitive for humans being completed— as the crowds moved around them as Ignis had earlier. He wondered at the names that appeared as personal androids answered questions and reacted only to the humans they belonged to. 

He wondered how much care went into those sorts of things. 

Noctis had taken great joy in naming Carbuncle when he was little. Ignis wondered if he had actually found some accomplishment when he settled on the name for the prototype settled back in his office. Or if he was just trying to be practical about the whole situation. 

“Not that. I mean Noctis. Our Noctis.”

“Our…” Ignis couldn’t remember the last time he had heard Gladiolus refer to the prince like that. “He’s… stable. Still. There haven’t been any—”

“Specs, if I wanted a report, I’d ask Nancy.”

“Nancy?”

“The nurse android.”

“I didn’t realise it had a name.”

“You wouldn’t,” Gladiolus guided him by the arm around one of the side entrances and towards the street, offering a familiar nod to some of the Glaives they passed along the way; “But really. Tell me.”

“The android— Nancy— said that there were signs of dreaming.”

“That’s good, right?”

There had been long hours when they were younger, spent together in that sterile room. Long days and longer nights they had sat together with their research and theories and simplified medical knowledge. There had been anxious long hours as doctor after doctor suggested their treatments through the years. Until Ignis felt that he was the only one still visiting that quiet room. 

Save for the Glaive that seemed content to be stationed outside of it on more than one occasion. 

“I think so,” Ignis answered; “it means that he might still be in there, at least.”

“That’s good.”

“Why? When was the last time you visited him?”

“Last week?” Gladiolus offered a shrug at the look of confusion; “I do still go see him, Specs. He was my friend too.”

They had tried to stay close, they really had. They had spent the first few years growing up together, focused on each other, on the optimistic approach that Noctis would recover and thrive again. But Gladiolus had always been too realistic to keep faith with those flights of fancy for too long. As the years stretched ahead of them without their prince to serve, Ignis found that they had each reached their own focus— their own drives and plans going forward. 

His simply meant that he could continue to visit Noctis regularly. He had never asked much after Gladiolus after they started to drift apart. 

“I know.”

The cafe that Gladiolus had in mind was only a stone’s throw from the Citadel steps. In the shadow of the formidable towers; with the patios open and welcoming to the crowd of tourists and residents alike. It wasn’t a chain or franchise, but a small, narrowed bakery and kitchen barely visible from the front counters. Ignis had passed it plenty of times on his way to and from the Citadel, but he had never bothered to step inside. Not like this; not in the same way Gladiolus seemed to be at ease with everyone and anything in the world around them. 

A light lunch order was placed with the pleasant androids manning the front counters, while humans in the kitchen just within sight glanced up to screens suspended over their worktops and ovens. Ignis watched them, as he was moved along to one side. 

“Your order should be out shortly.” Their cashier was identical to the other— the curl of hair not swept back in the imperfect bun a charming detail meant to put humans at ease withing the retail setting. Ignis had always wondered at the design and the psychology behind it. 

He wondered even more at his old friend’s acceptance of the android staff and polite response, despite the other humans moving through the lines and orders with barely an acknowledgement to the machines that had just handled them. 

“You’re comfortable with androids,” Ignis said once they had settled with their order at a table in the afternoon light. 

“Comes from having two in the house,” the Amicitias had always been at the forefront of technology where they could be. “Dustin and Monica are still up and running, you know.”

“You’ve had them for ages.”

“And now you have one that looks like Noct.”

“Only looks like.”

“You called him Noct, and have him calling you ‘Iggy.’”

“I…” There wasn’t a defence for the choice. Ignis didn’t want to have to defend or explain things like this— like that little moment of weakness when his heart clenched at the voice saying his old nickname, coming from what looked like his friend. He didn’t want to delve too deeply into the idea that he understood he was just grasping at anything he could now. “I couldn’t very well call him LC114. A name is functional and familiar.”

“And your nickname bit?”

“Nostalgia. It’s hardly like you ever deem it necessary to visit my little library.”

“We’ve both been busy, Specs.”

“I know.” Staring into his coffee was far preferred than seeing the softness in his friend’s eyes and trying to decipher what that would mean. What the sudden spate of interest could mean now. Visits, lunch, actual interactions outside of what was necessary for their duties within the Citadel; “You said you visit Noctis? What do you do? I can’t imagine it’s very interesting for you. You were always as impatient as he was.”

That earned him a smile, and a shrug of Gladiolus’ shoulders in immediate response; “I read to him. I talk to Nancy. Tell him what’s been going on.”

“You read to him.”

“Yeah, why? What do you do?”

“I usually just sit with him and work.”

“You need to get out more, Specs.”

“You need to stay in more, Gladio.”

By the time they returned to the little library in the Citadel, there were plans to make the lunch out a weekly event at least. To fit it around their schedules— Gladiolus would still have his duties as the Steward-in-Training and with the Crownsguard, and Ignis now had his project with the android— but they had a plan. They wanted to reconnect. And if it meant only taking an hour or two out of their day, their week, to talk over coffees and sandwiches, they could at least say it was a start. 

They wandered back through the administrative floors of the Citadel well later than they expected to, with the high of a minor victory bringing a spring to their steps. It wasn’t the same sort of connection they once had— playing as children did in the royal gardens, bonded together over their prince— but it was a re-ignition of that spark of familiarity. That friendship. 

That didn’t stop either of them from stopping just inside the doorway of Ignis’ study as they entered to find the android re-shelving books from piles that had been placed around the small room. A small pat wound its way between the stacks, paced by the android as he lifted one title at a time to analyse before either replacing it in its pile or returning it to a new order in the shelves.

“Noct, what are you doing?”

“I’ve come up with a better system for your work.”

Ignis felt the weight of Gladiolus’ hand on his shoulder reminding him that the other man was there; “I’ll leave you to this mess, Specs.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Ignis barely registered his friend’s departure, carefully stepping around the little pathway to examine what had already been re-shelved. “Noct, what did you do?”

“You already had a rudimentary system in place by the time of publication, but some of the dates were in question,” Another book was lifted from a stack as the android glanced at it and seemed to absorb secrets that Ignis could never understand; “I was able to determine some timelines based on paper types and decay or restoration processes. After that, it was determining author. You had several journals kept by Shields that were untitled, but my method allowed them to be placed within the correct time period and—”

“Okay, okay. But why?”

“You said you wanted me to help you get a better system in place. I’m sure once the process of digitising these records start, I can pinpoint a more accurate placement based on handwriting and turns of phrase.”

Ignis had an understanding of androids to a point. He knew that they had programmes and orders, and would follow those programmes to the detail— processing adjustments and changes as they needed to overcome obstacles. That seemed, in Noct’s case, to include waiting patiently, book still in hand, for Ignis to let him resume his task. 

“Was there a problem, Iggy?”

“No,” Ignis stepped away, and Noct remained where he stood, LED a calm blue as he observed and analysed; “I just didn’t expect you to be so efficient, I guess.”

Reshelving the works took the rest of the afternoon, and well into the evening. There were books that Ignis had assumed were collected from servants at the time, journals that had been falling apart and restored when he was first assigned to the archives. He resumed letting Noct analyse and replace what he could, and watched the details and assignments of shelf space update on his tablet. This was a small scale experiment in his office. The real work would take place if he let Noct loose in the archives themselves.

It was a step towards what he wanted to do. To the programme and conservation of the kingdom’s history he wanted to propose. The next step would be storing the information of the books— scans and images, if not full copies in text documents and reports. Ignis wasn’t certain if Noct could do all of that himself, if he should have other dedicated androids that could be taught the same processes Noct was going about now. He could use this system, this experiment, as an example of his idea. 

But he didn’t know if he wanted Noct to be the android relegated to the archives to carry out the full reform. It seemed wrong to keep something that looked so much like the prince locked away. 

He wondered just how much the android had seen already. It had been powered up in the throne room when presented earlier that day. And it must have been alert and aware in the CyberLife headquarters where it was created. But the trip from there to the Citadel… 

“Noct, have you seen much outside of the Citadel? Or where ever CyberLife kept you?”

“No.”

The response was matter of fact and direct. Nonchalant if Ignis felt the need to assign an emotion to it. 

It felt wrong to leave the thing in his office overnight. To return back in the morning to see the thing waiting for him. It reminded him too much of the boy up in the royal apartments, trapped in his sleep and only seeming to exist when someone was up there to visit. 

“You’ll accompany me home tonight, Noct.”

He had no experience with these things. Gladiolous had Monica and Dustin tending to the Amicitia estate and family for years, but Ignis had resisted the offers from the Crownsguard for his own issued android. Now he had Noct, and no idea where to store him, or what to do with him. This was going to take some research. 

“Alright, Iggy.”

And maybe a drink to wrap his head around the turn his day had taken.


	4. Day Two

It had been unnerving to wake in the morning to see the android perched on his sofa, eyes closed but back stiff and straight as it waited in a low power setting. Ignis hadn’t even known it had that sort of setting. Or that it would just sit patiently and wait for him to wake when his alarm dragged him from sleep. 

“Good morning, Iggy,” the thing greeted while its eyes were still closed. 

“Good morning,” it was polite to acknowledge the android, he supposed. It was habit to see something that was human shaped and to adress it as such. He beelined for the coffee before he gave the situation too much thought. “What were you doing? Do androids sleep?”

“No, there’s no need for that,” Noct watched him now, still perched as he was on the sofa; “but I ran diagnostics and checks as I was programmed to do.”

“For,” Ignis checked the time as he shovelled an extra scoop of coffee grinds into his filter and selected a stronger setting than normal; “six hours?”

“More or less. Did you sleep well, too?”

“…Did you just equate running internal diagnostics to sleep?”

“Yes. It’s fundamentally the same process.”

Ignis wanted to question it more. He wanted to press and prod and find out how the machine sitting so patiently for an order from him had come to that conclusion. He knew that Noct was not an android designed to be a personal assistant, like others. He wasn’t meant to be a caretaker, or homemaker, or whatever else these things were often meant to do. But he also hadn’t been presented with a set of instructions and definitions that would clarify just how the Citadel was meant to make use of it. 

Noct was unique, and strange, and apparently programmed to adapt to different situations outside of just one set of regular protocols. 

It was too early to think about the nature of a machine like Noct. Ignis pinched the bridge of his nose and attempted to push the questions further away. “I slept fine.”

Later, there would be time to try to analyse the android again; there would be time to work through its programming and systems and try to make sense of the way it seemed to have its own agenda. Or at least it seemed to, bu Ignis’ standards. He had met the Amicitia’s androids plenty of times— Monica and Dustin both programmed as caretakers for the Amicitia children, and bodyguards for the family. He had seen their combat displays, the split seconds between processes that only came about by training and drills in humans until the movements that could be pre-programmed in a machine were second nature to a human. He had seen the units introduced to the Kingsglaive and Crownsguard, and knew they were no substitute to an adaptable human. 

Noct seemed to be adaptable enough to trounce them. If he was designed for combat too. 

And there were the adviser units the politicians used— a mix of personal assistant and record keeper. They tended to lean forward to correct or supply information in meetings, an instant correction made to records and notes to appear as if it was a political adaptation. 

Ignis already knew that Noct was capable of that sort of function. 

It was too early for these sorts of ideas, but he couldn’t push them away. He couldn’t look at the machine waiting on him without wondering at it. 

He knew that his little vacuum was not a sentient thing, that it just buzzed along as it needed to in order to satisfy its programming. It zoomed across his already pristine floor once a week and docked itself again once it’s function was fulfilled. He wondered what would happen with Noct, if there weren’t standing orders. If there wasn’t something that would keep him moving and going, and checking on things.

The coffee burned as he downed it too quickly. As he tried to ground himself from the sympathetic thoughts churning through his mind. As he thought of Noctis alone and forgotten in that sterile bed up in the Citadel. Only machines as his constant companions. 

“I’ll be quick.” Ignis said as he headed to the bathroom. 

“Yes, Iggy.”

He needed to see Noctis. 

Getting in and out of the Citadel was an easy thing. He had worried that the Glaives or Guards wandering, patrolling, would stop him this time. That they would recognise the android at his side in the crisp morning air, looking far more poised than he did. When he wasn’t stopped at the checkpoints, or questioned as he expected, Ignis decided that most of the guards at the Citadel grounds were like him. 

A quick gloss over the markings of LED and identifiers of an android, and Noct was through the door with him. 

Just as he had left with no further checks or balances on the way out the night before. 

There was probably a security concern he should raise in that procedure. 

But the Citadel in the morning was quiet. The public reception had yet to be opened, the staff coming in carried takeaway paper cups and trays, sometimes chatting together, sometimes listening to whatever the android following them was talking about. Ignis supposed it was updates in the morning news, developments uploaded to the networks the androids could access, or just preparations for their days ahead. He had only ever seen it as noise before; a constant chatter as he gripped his tablet and selected the floor for the royal apartments from the elevator selection, his security pass beeping its authority when presented.

He used to relax in the elevator, in the familiar hum of the older machines carrying him. He used to enjoy the quiet after the noise of the street and the administrative hallways. Now, with Noct at his side, the silence was awkward, stilted. As if it should be filled. 

“I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

“Your usual visits are three to three and a half hours.”

“What?”

“The security protocols and procedures indicate that you spend that much time here when you visit these floors.”

“Right.”

He would have preferred the awkward quiet. 

There was a guard leaving the room when Ignis got to the right section of the Citadel. The old stone of the walls lightened drastically by the tall windows arching well above his reach, and the shadow of the young man slipping quietly from the converted nursery room was easy to spot in the morning lights. 

“Argentum,” Ignis was just happy to see a human in the hallways that he recognised. Usually the guards were already gone on the next leg of their patrol by the time he arrived; “anything new?”

The first time he had caught the younger man— Noctis’ age— coming from the prince’s room, he had worried. He had thought that the guard had been, at best, sleeping on the job in one of the chairs of the room where Noctis was kept and monitored. The nurse had assured him that the young guard had simply visited. The second time, he had the android play back the one sided conversation the guard had held with the prince— talking at him about the day to days of the Citadel, the Crownsguard training, the late shift doldrums. 

When Ignis finally confronted the young guard properly, he had taken pity on the anxious young man. Had listed to his scared pleas not to tell, the promises not to go into the room again. Ignis listened to the younger man just stating that he thought the prince might be lonely, and didn’t have the heart to discourage the deviations from the planned patrols. 

“I don’t think so,” the guard grinned at him and snapped off a salute before he registered the sight of the android. “Is this what everyone was talking about? It looks just like him!”

“Prompto—”

“That’s so cool,” Prompto was examining Noct before Iggy could stop him, eyes wide and taking in all of the details. Ignis watched as the younger guard took the android’s hand and pressed something to reveal the shell of plastic beneath the skin; “It must be really new.”

“How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make its hand do that?” Ignis watched Noct’s reactions carefully as the android seemed to just be content to allow Prompto’s curiosity, turning his hand to display a series of minuscule sensors embedded in the plastic hand. 

“Oh, I’m just good with machines.” Prompto released the hand and beamed to Noct; “Hi, I’m Prompto.”

“I’m Noct,” the android responded. 

“So cool,” Prompto beamed to Ignis, “What are you going to do with him? Can I help?”

Ignis wanted to hesitate. He wanted to pretend that he had things with Noct under control and a plan in place. But he found himself nodding without thinking things through. He could justify it later as deferring to someone else’s expertise. Prompto was clearly interested and versed in machines, Gladiolus clearly understood their functions and protocols. Ignis needed the help; “Are you familiar with my office?”

“I can probably find it.”

“Then stop by around four? I’ll see if we can switch your shifts around…”

Prompto glanced at the closed door to the prince’s room before he responded. “I’d be fine, Ignis. I want to keep my usual patrol. I got an hour or two before I can come by. Around two?”

“Two it is, then.”

With a quick nod to show that the plan was made, Prompto offered a cheery wave and left them alone in the hallway again, disappearing to his next checkpoint. 

“I like him,” Noct said as Ignis reached for the door.

“Do you?”

“He seems,” there was a pause as the little LED flared— Ignis would have sworn that the android was looking for the right term. He realised later that the machine was looking through Prompto’s public files; “very optimistic regarding his role in the Crownsguard.”

“He’s a good man,” Ignis agreed, and steeled himself for the sight of the prince still laying in the large bed, Carbuncle curled at his side. 

He had never given up the hope that he would open the door one day and Noctis would be awake and smiling at him.


	5. Function

Neither of them actually spoke until they had left the prince’s rooms again. Until the sense of holy, sympathetic silence had lifted once they were a few steps out of the room. Ignis remembered when he was younger, and far more optimistic; how he would talk to the sleeping prince for those few hours of visitation. How he’d read to Noctis, or tell him what had been happening in the Citadel. 

He didn’t know when he stopped. When he settled into the silence of that room, with only the near-silent monitors filling the space around him. 

“Iggy, if I may ask,” Noct had stood near the doorway during the visit to Noctis’ rooms— until Ignis had ordered the android to sit; “why do you visit the prince so often?”

“What?”

The android had initially beelined for the nurse— Nancy, as Gladiolus had said— and retrieved a report from her before taking up his first position by the door. Ignis had watched as the nurse’s LED shifted hues to show that she was processing whatever Noct had just requested. As she had offered a mechanical smile and nod to signify whatever silent transaction they just had was completed. He had watched, with some curiosity, as the tablet in his hands chimed with the notice of a new download; the most recent report on the prince already collected and filed through the link Noct had established with Ignis’ own tools. 

He had to admit that the method was much easier than submitting the same requests each visit. It was more convenient to have the latest updates and reports before he even sat down. 

“You visit every other day, since the affliction took.” Noct followed him through the familiar hallways and routes back to his own little study several floors below the royal apartments. 

“He’s my friend, Noct. I need to be here for him,” Ignis had stopped adding ‘when he wakes up’ years ago.

“But you visit more often than his family. Most studies would suggest that there was some sort of deeper emotional—”

“Stop,” Ignis didn’t want to think about his visits as if they were some sort of psychological deviation. As if the King’s monthly check-ins were the norm, rather than the product of a too-busy schedule. 

“I only mean—”

“I don’t need to explain myself to some heap of plastic. You don’t need to come next time.”

“I’m sorry, Iggy.”

“Just…” Ignis just wanted to work, he just wanted to finish his latest project and pretend that things were normal again. “Make yourself useful.”

There was a quick nod of acknowledgement and the android moved to the half-organised stack of ancient scrolls and books and parchments they hadn’t had the chance to really analyse yet. For a moment, Ignis watched as the android worked— as Noct worked— to his command. The standing orders from the day before to analyse and organise the old books that had stumped the researchers and librarians for generation taking the machine only minutes to correctly place within the timeline of the kingdom’s other historic texts. 

Ignis tried to ignore the thing as he reviewed the reports on Noctis. As he set tried to organise what it was he was seeing. There were patterns going back months— activity noted by the android nurse since her protocols and programming had been updated. There were spikes in Noctis’ readings and observances that hadn’t been noticed before; that hadn’t had a real set of human eyes looking through them before. At least not in any meaningful way other than just checking for activity here and there. 

“Iggy,” Noct started, LED a solid yellow as he analysed the book in his hand; “do you need assistance?”

“No, I just…” He wanted a second set of eyes on this. He wanted someone else to spot the patterns before he really reacted. 

Before he got too hopeful. 

“Do you have access to the medical reports on the prince?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to look through them. See if there’s any patterns.”

“And the library?”

“Priority is always on the prince.” Ignis watched as the android set the book down again and folded its hands in front of itself. As the android’s LED shifted from a stable, consistent status light to processing as it closed its eyes. As something shifted in it, and Ignis realised that it was reassessing its own programming to shuffle whatever priorities were already in force. 

“I understand,” Noct said. It moved to sit in the free seat across from Ignis’ desk. The one meant for visitors to his little office tucked away in the Halls of History that no one ever used. “What would you like me to do with the resulting report?”

There were doctors meant to be doing this— monitoring the prince for patterns like this, the slightest changes and adjustments in whatever was happening in him. Ignis couldn’t recall the last time he actually saw the doctor enter the prince’s room for a real check up. But there were reports signed and dated at various intervals through the years; proposals and suggestions made through the years for new treatments and experiments. So he assumed that there must still be a doctor attending to the prince, who oversaw the android nurse settled in the room. He hesitated at the thought though, not certain of the response amateur observations might receive. 

“Can you see who the doctor assigned to his case is?”

“Yes, I can compile the report and send it to her, if you would like.”

“That would probably be best.”

Ignis wasn’t sure how the machine worked, or what it was actually doing. He wasn’t sure what sort of report was being composed, but his tablet toned with an alert shortly after. He saw the subject, the list of recipients, and he sent a questioning look to the android still seated across the desk. 

“I’ve taken the liberty to send it to you and the King.”

“Right.”

“Was that unacceptable?”

“What? No, it’s—” 

His thoughts— the reassurances he wanted to give that the android had performed as needed— were lost as Prompto peeked in, still dressed in street clothes. “Hey, Ignis. You don’t mind if I pop in now?”

“Pardon?” There was a moment where he was lost at the idea. The appointments were made hours ago now, when the sun was still just rising over the city. He realised that it had been more than half a day now— between the hours spent at Noctis’ side, and trying to understand the pattern he had just picked up. He could glance at a clock or out a window to reaffirm just how much time had actually passed without his realisation, but he settled for offering a quick smile and nod to the younger guard. The brief conversation shared in the hallways outside of Noctis’ rooms came back in a flood. 

He wasn’t used to people actually taking him up on offers to meet later. “Yes, of course. Sorry, Prompto.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Prompto beamed as he beelined for Noct— fascinated by the look of amicable blankness the android offered. “But I couldn’t wait.”

Of course, Ignis realised, the only time someone kept that vague promise to meet later in the day was because he had some new toy they were interested in. 

He watched as the younger man work his way through system checks on the android. As diagnostics and reports were presented in a manner of speaking. Prompto seemed to know his way around the technology— his hands expertly patting and prodding and finding all the little switches and sensors Ignis didn’t even know existed on the things. Talking as he did so until Ignis stood behind him, becoming familiar with Prompto’s own expertise more than with the android easily allowing itself to be examined. 

“It’s easy really,” Prompto said once he was satisfied with a physical check. Gushing praise over the sensors and systems woven into the androids plastic features just below the illusion of skin; “once you know what you’re doing. Most of the androids are standard, but I think they made this one special. Aside from the features— you know, the whole likeness to the prince— its got a lot of stuff I’ve never seen before.”

“You have your own android?”

“Oh, no.” Prompto grinned, even as he traced a seam along the stark white plastic of Noct’s arm, the illusion of humanity peeled back just far enough to to open a portion of the machine to prying eyes. “I could never afford one for myself.”

“But you do seem to be familiar with them.”

“Well, yeah. There’s a lot published about them, right?” Another bright smile and Prompto straighted in his seat— the one he had dragged from it’s spot next to Ignis’ desk so he could sit and face the the machine in comfort. “Hey, Noct, what’s your model?”

“I am LC114,” Noct said, tone still light and friendly as he straightened. “I’ve been gifted by CyberLife to the Royal Household.”

“And your serial number?”

“My serial is 030-008-735,” the android offers his own little smile to Prompto; “though it would be much easier to just call me Noct.”

“You got it, buddy.”

Ignis wondered, for a brief moment, if Prompto would have been so easy and friendly with Noctis. Had things been different. If they had known each other. He still remembered the shyness and uncertainty in the prince when they were first introduced— the wide eyes looking at him with such apprehension until he presented his hand.

He couldn’t picture Noctis being so quick to make friends. 

He supposed androids had to be programmed to be overly friendly. To be open and accepting— as amicable as possible regardless of the new situations they were in. 

“So Noct,” Prompto said; “just what exactly is your function?”

“Iggy has me doing several administrative tasks at the moment,” the android seemed to stiffen under the new line of scrutiny, but his features remained amicable. “But I’m also more than capable of household necessities as well. Such as cleaning or—”

“No, your function, Noct.” Prompto tried again. 

Ignis studied the android in the confusion, between the concerned little look Prompto gave him and the way the LED at Noct’s temple chased a steady processing yellow with the more common, calming blue. He studied what could have been hesitation in the machine, if he didn’t know any better. 

“I’m afraid that’s classified, Prompto.”

“Noct,” Ignis tried, having the higher security clearance between them; “What is your purpose?”

“I’m sorry, Iggy. But that is classified.”


End file.
